In That Said-Same Second
In
that said-same second
between
life
and death,
a
child is born
to
a woman—
not
quite ready.
Ribbons
are awarded
to
winners of the
McCarthy
County Spelling Bee.
A
bottle of bubbly is
popped
in
Paris,
while
a man in Colorado is
sentenced
to
prison (though innocent of his crime).
The
world contemplates,
realigns
its incongruities
in
a misaligned universe,
tentatively
raises the shade on morning
and
blows out the candle—
signaling
night.
The
moon
swings
low.
The
second
between
life
and death is an unending continuum,
one
that does not decipher laughterfromtears
or
as in this passage—
poetryfromprose.
Caught
I am eternally
caught
in the poisonous web
of your personal tragedies,
floating
in the eye
of the tornado
of your hatefulness –
and inevitable
eating of me.
Still, somewhere
between
your fast, your frequent, your furious
back-and-forth
feedings,
I can feel the beating
of your heart as it
turns from crimson to black
along each dying petal.
This, but a pressed remnant
of the love
we could have shared.
You would have done me better
to do me in
swiftly, mercifully
disabling my senses.
But I was made
to hang there, stuck
and imprisoned
with full consciousness,
for
your
folly.
This Property is Condemned.
The windows
of my eyes,
are open,
and I see you
have declared me
a space, uninhabitable.
Your disgruntled
chidings
are not screened, either,
in the flaming
fireplace
which is your mouth;
I am treated like
a property
condemned.
So, I lock the door
of my heart
and list it—
ready for a person to
hold the key
and love the place.
Keith Hoerner lives, teaches and pushes words around
in Southern Illinois.
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